


Three If By Sea

by alltoseek



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a <a href="http://perfect-duet.livejournal.com/418887.html?thread=5339719#t5339719">prompt</a> on <a href="http://perfect-duet.livejournal.com">perfect_duet</a>'s <a href="http://perfect-duet.livejournal.com/418887.html">2011 Aubreyad Kink Meme</a>: "Someone (a man, not a woman) has a strong hold over Jack that could ruin him if it was found out. They want a night with Stephen in return for their silence, with Jack being forced to watch. Jack/Stephen can be in a relationship already or not."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three If By Sea

**Author's Note:**

> **Please note I have chosen not to use archive warnings.** This fic is centered around consent issues. Hen Dundas shows a much darker side than is ever apparent in canon.

Before the echo of “Sail ho!” had quite died away Captain Aubrey was shooting up the rigging, his best glass slung over a shoulder. By the time he had mounted the main topgallant cross-trees, the very pinnacle of the ship, he could just discern through his glass the ship on the horizon, now hull-up. Clearly a British man-of-war, from her royals flying gallantly. A third-rate, but on the small side – 64-guns... “The _Berenice_ , by God!” Jack's face lit up as he slid down a backstay like a boy. “Ha ha! Dinner with Dundas today!”

Dinner was a pleasant, leisurely affair. Captain Dundas treated his guests to an excellent meal in the traditional Navy way, offering up the best of his cattle, larder, and wine for their comfort. After the required toast to His Majesty, Stephen excused himself to visit the _Berenice's_ surgeon, who had requested his opinion regarding a peculiar case of marthambles. 

Jack and Heneage drank their coffee in companionable silence, listening to the bustle of the men shifting skills and supplies needed for repairs by each of the ships, under the hard-working direction of the first lieutenants. Jack leant back in chair, loosened his breeches band, gazed out the stern gallery and reflected that life could not possibly get any better than this. He was debating the merits of making this obvious, trite, bland, yet still apropos observation aloud when Hen cleared his throat and spoke. “Jack, my old friend, when Stephen returns to us I have a proposal for our entertainment this evening.”

“Yes?” Jack quickly reviewed possibilities in his mind: Hen was not musical, backgammon was a two-person game and most card games required either two or four players – perhaps he intended to invite one of his officers to make a game of whist – 

“An intimate affair, just the three of us,” Dundas continued. “You know, Jack, you and I are old friends. I consider you one of my closest friends.”

“As I you, old Hen,” Jack murmured, wondering why Dundas was suddenly become so maudlin.

“Of course. Naturally. And Stephen – dear Stephen; he has been your particular friend for years.”

“Yes, indeed!” Jack smiled broadly.

“Stephen and I have been quite close too, at times; perhaps you are aware?”

“Yes, certainly. I remember you was his second during that unfortunate affair on the _Polychrest_. Thank God that came to nothing in the end.”

“Yes, yes, exactly. Exactly so. But perhaps you are not aware of quite how close Stephen and I were at the time; how very _particular_ our friendship was.”

Jack squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. He hated conversations of this sort. He knew Stephen had flexible notions regarding intimate relations with men – knew this personally – but in the Navy it just wasn't the thing to talk about it. Much too dangerous. Of course he would never reveal anything to damage either Stephen or Hen; had gone out of his way to prevent harming anyone he knew engaged in the relatively inoffensive yet still illegal activity. But talking about it just wasn't _done_.

Not to mention the time period in question still left an unpleasant feeling in him – estranged from Stephen, with cause; the absurd foolish fling with Diana; the near loss of Sophie; the potential damage to his career – Now he was safely married to his love, much less inclined to risk his career on personal whims, resolved never to court the lady of another, he felt he had learnt the necessary lessons of that painful time, and had no desire to revisit the memories.

Jack himself had flexible morals; he loved his dear Sophie, had no desire to hurt her nor replace her; but when away for such long periods he could see no harm in dallying on occasion with an eager partner. Dundas was even more forthcoming in his affairs, acknowledging some half-dozen bastards and resenting any slights against them or their mother. Jack took no issue with this; he was not a judgmental man by nature (outside of proper methods of ship-handling and Naval traditions) and even less likely to condemn a man for personal affairs, in which Jack himself was hardly blameless. Captain Aubrey was many things, but hypocrite was not among them. However intimate Stephen and Heneage chose to be was not for Jack to interfere.

During Jack's silence Dundas pressed on. “Recently I indicated to our mutual friend that I wished to return to our former level of intimacy. Unfortunately, Stephen felt obliged to decline. He said his loyalty was to you now.”

Jack stiffened. “D'ye mean you tried to lure away my surgeon?”

Heneage scoffed, “No, no, of course not, Jack. My ship already has a surgeon.”

Jack was confused. What could Hen mean in that case? He didn't have any exclusive claims on Stephen's affections – he was married, for all love! As was Stephen. _Perhaps he don't want you that way any more, old cock_ , Jack reflected; and was trying to find a tactful way of phrasing it when Dundas spoke again.

“Therefore I will ask you to tell Stephen that you are very happy for him to engage in relations with me, when he returns from his consultation with Mr Bohns.”

Jack returned to his uncomfortable squirming. “Stephen will not thank me for interfering in what don't concern me.”

“Stephen has made quite clear to me that he does consider it your concern.”

Jack took refuge in refreshing his cup from Dundas' elegant silver service, as if more coffee would help him see his way through such an unwelcome tangle of emotions.

After an awkward lengthy pause, Hen spoke up again. “Do you remember the summer you spent at Melville Castle?”

Jack instantly relaxed and smiled, “Lord, what larks we kicked up!” His eyes glazed in reminiscence.

“I remember one particular lark you got up to with Eleanor.”

Jack chuckled, “She was a right 'un, your sister. I don't know but what if I'd had even so much as a lieutenant's commission then but I might've asked your father for her hand. No doubt he'd have turned me down. I don't think he'd have taken less than a post-captain for her. Or a peer.”

“No doubt. Your methods of courting led to several indiscretions on her part, you know.”

“She didn't lack for courage or spirit! Never gave me away, either, God bless her,” Jack said fondly.

“Did you know my father had to send her away to India in the end? The gossip around her escapades was in danger of ruining her.”

“I knew she sailed off – always did love sailing and travel – told me if I ever had a ship of my own she'd sail with me, just for the fun of it. Didn't she find herself a nabob with the Company? I don't see a bit of gossip ever slowing her down.”

“Perhaps not her, but how do you think my father felt? Or Robert?”

Jack's thoughts turned uncomfortable once again. “She was a handful, to be sure. But all's well that ends in marriage, eh?”

“And if Robert knew of your involvement?”

“Hen, what are you saying?” Jack's face paled as much as possible under its mahogany weather-beaten hue and the reddening influence of a rich dinner and abundance of wine. “This is all in the past – why are you bringing it up now? Why would you mention this to your brother after all these years?”

“The Dundas family name is important to Lord Melville, as much to Robert now as to my father then. I know this all too well, having been lectured again and again by both of them. What if I was to mention I'm not the only one who doesn't take it so seriously? That there's a certain post captain – currently in high favour – who trifled with a young Miss Dundas?”

“I'd be ruined,” said Jack in a hoarse whisper, shocked. “But, Hen, why – ?”

“You don't know what it's like,” said Dundas, bitterly. “Sailing alone, month after month, cruise after cruise. No companionship, no one to talk to – not freely. You're of an ardent nature, Jack, like me – Can you imagine? Always being the 'great man', appearing above it all, keeping everything to yourself.

“It twists you. I feel shriveled up inside. Look at you – Lucky Jack Aubrey, as hearty and cheerful as the day you were born. Now here I am, dried up and miserable, driven to blackmailing my close friend, all for the chance of one night...”

“Hen, I'm sorry.” Jack was at loss. He did understand the plight of many captains, had watched the personalities of many warp under the twin pressures of command and isolation, isolated even in the midst of a crew of hundreds. Jack recognised his own good fortune in having Stephen with him, a friend and colleague both, an equal with whom he could share meals, music and conversation, and even, to some extent, his concerns regarding his ship, his men, and his missions. But he was still uncertain what Heneage thought Jack could do for him.

“Then you'll help me?”

“Why, yes, of course, but – “

Captain Dundas was already removing his coat. Neckcloths had been loosened and discarded some time earlier. “Take off your coat, Jack. Relax! This will be a pleasure.”

Jack did so, and his waistcoat too, as Hen removed his. Not that he minded being casual in his friend's cabin but he did not understand where this was leading.

Heneage looked much happier and relaxed, however. “Hitchens!” he cried. “Hitchens there! Rouse out a bottle of the brandy!” With a wink at Jack he said, “This calls for something a little stronger than coffee, don't you agree?” He rubbed his hands together. “Ha ha! Here allow me,” he said, pouring a generous amount into Jack's glass.

They drank together once again in companionable silence, Jack returning to a more comfortable state under the mellowing influence of the brandy and Heneage's renewed good humour.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Stephen after being announced by the Marine sentry.

“Ah, Stephen, there you are!” greeted Dundas, smiling broadly. “Join us for a glass of this excellent brandy, won't you?”

“Certainly I will, thank you kindly.” Stephen looked at the captains' shirtsleeves and discarded clothes. “I see you have have been making yourselves comfortable in my absence.”

“Yes, and you should too, my friend,” Dundas said, assisting the doctor out of his coat. “I have a delightful plan for our amusement this evening,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Jack and I have been just talking it over.” 

They both looked towards Jack, who merely nodded, not trusting his voice. He longed to ask Stephen about the patient, Mr Bohns, anything to return the conversation and the evening back to something resembling normality, but Hen seemed intent on pursuing his own course.

Having divested Stephen of his coat, Dundas reached around him to undo the buttons of his waistcoat, taking him quite by surprise. Stephen frowned and pursed his lips, and glancing at the brandy on the table said, “Perhaps you have been enjoying yourselves a bit freely.”

“Perhaps,” smiled Dundas, tossing the waistcoat and neckcloth over a chair. “Or perhaps you have not been enjoying yourself enough. Jack, would you kindly pour the doctor a glass.”

“Certainly!” agreed Jack, glad to have a task that made some sense. He took the opportunity to refill his own as well. 

Dundas led Stephen over to the stern locker where they both sat. Stephen took a swallow of the brandy and smiled. “An excellent vintage.”

Dundas nodded, pleased. He held up his glass, “To true friends!”

“To true friends!” the others responded cheerfully. They drank a few more toasts, then their host set down his glass. Dundas had sat very close to Stephen on the locker, and with each toast had contrived to lean closer, and slide an arm around Stephen's back. Dr. Maturin, a reserved man, his own ardent temperament buried under layers of propriety and disguised by various substances chewed, smoked or swallowed, was bemused by the movements, but did not move away. 

Dundas reached to take the doctor's empty glass and set it down as well. “Dear Stephen,” he murmured, one hand sliding up to his friend's cheek and turning his face towards him. He leant in to kiss him, at which point Stephen had to raise a hand between them.

“My dear Hen, what are you about?” Stephen frowned, looked over at Jack.

“It's quite all right,” replied Dundas. “Jack and I agreed. Jack, please, why don't you join us?”

Jack rose from his chair, and watched himself as in a dream move to sit on the locker on Stephen's other side. He felt curiously detached from the proceedings, from his own actions, whilst still noticing certain physical details intensely. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, throbbing in his neck. He smelled the brandy and tobacco on Stephen's breath, noted traces of powder from the doctor's wig (which Hen had also removed some time ago) in Stephen's hair, on his neck. The cushions of the locker were softer than those in his own cabin.

Hen was kissing Stephen. Jack could hear the soft noise of their lips, breathy “oh's” from Stephen. Jack's breath moved the hairs on Stephen's neck, set the powder drifting. One of Stephen's hands came to rest on Jack's thigh.

Stephen's other hand was at the back of Heneage's head, working into his hair, loosening the tie that held the queue. Hen's hands were stroking Stephen's back and clutching his shoulder. Jack felt a clenching in his stomach that rose into his chest that he mistook at first for indigestion until a wave of jealousy washed over him so powerfully it shredded his delusion and left only a cold emptiness in its wake. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, _'not my concern, not my concern,'_ burning behind his lids.

A gasp and Stephen's hand clutching his thigh brought Jack's eyes open. Hen had worked a hand under Stephen's shirt and the kissing had deepened. _“He kept me here,”_ Jack thought. _“He invited me to sit right here.”_ Resolutely thrusting the useless jealousy aside, Jack reached his own hands out to caress Stephen. He began kissing his neck, nipping a little too, the way he knew Stephen liked. 

Together Jack and Hen lifted Stephen's shirt off altogether. Under their combined assault, Stephen succumbed helplessly, his hand scrabbling along the length of Jack's thigh, his head lolling back against Jack's broad shoulder. Hen had lowered his head to take Stephen's nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue and gently sucking it. His thumb meanwhile was playing with Stephen's other nipple, moving back and forth, rolling in circles. _”Why, he's making love to him like – like he's a girl! Ridiculous!”_ But Stephen apparently did not recognise the absurdity; he arched into Hen's caresses, eyes drifting shut and mouth falling open. Only Jack's hands braced along his sides kept him up. Jack saw his opportunity and captured Stephen's lips with his own. Hot, hot and warm, wet, welcoming; God it had been ages, too long, this was a brilliant idea – Jack cradled Stephen's head and kissed him long and deep.

“Lay him down, lay him down,” came Hen's quiet order. Jack slid off the locker, allowing Stephen to rest along the length of it. Heneage began working off Stephen's breeches. Jack stared, once again transfixed in a kind of horror, but Stephen's hand came up to his head and he was kissing him again. Stephen was now tugging at Jack's own shirt, and he impatiently pulled it off. Suddenly Stephen moaned, and arched his hips up. Jack watched as Hen, having freed Stephen of his breeches, was now generously working over his friend's prick and balls with his tongue. Stephen caressed Hen's cheek and ran his fingers through his hair, undulating under the urgent movements of Hen's lips and tongue and mouth, thoroughly lost in pleasure. Jack saw his old friend take Stephen's prick entirely in his mouth, sucking down as much as he could. As Hen's head worked up and down, Stephen's shaft was hidden then revealed, glistening in the flickering light of the cabin. Jack felt the green-eyed monster grip him again; although he could not say if he wanted to be the one so pleasuring Stephen, or be the receiver of Hen's amourous ministrations. It had never occurred to Jack to take another man's member into his mouth – so nasty (but delightful!) even when a woman would do so. Stephen too was watching Hen's loving with hooded eyes, murmuring his name between gasps. But his other hand still gripped Jack's shoulder, stroked along his neck. Then he turned to meet Jack's eyes, and smiled in such pure joy that Jack's heart slipped away from envy's grasp, and he bent down to kiss him once more. Whilst the kissing soothed Jack's shattered soul, gradually Stephen's response grew vaguer, became open-mouthed gasps and shudders. Jack recognised the signs of his imminent release and shuddered himself, closing his eyes and leaning his head on Stephen's shoulder. 

“Jack, be a dear help me hold him, would you?” Hen's words recalled him painfully. Jack watched his own broad hand slide down Stephen's slim torso, finally covering one bony hip. One of Hen's hands held down Stephen's other hip, Hen's other hand busy somewhere underneath Stephen. Hips now secure, Hen resumed his enthusiastic sucking and playing. Unable to thrust, with Jack's large hands holding him hip and shoulder, Stephen moaned wantonly, rolling his head from side to side, eyes wide and dark. 

Hen lifted his mouth off, smiling slyly. Stephen groaned and covered his face with an arm. “Let's turn him over,” said Heneage to Jack. His words went straight to Jack's groin, where his breeches had long felt uncomfortably tight. Soon the two captains had Stephen on his stomach, arse lifted slightly. “All right?” asked Hen of Stephen, stroking gently down his back and sides, caressing Stephen's meagre yet still inviting buttocks. Stephen nodded. Jack's gut twisted. His hands lay along Stephen's shoulders, clutching helplessly. “Be a good fellow and hand me the oil from the table, would you, Jack?” Hen asked. Jack did. He didn't know when Hen had divested himself of his breeches, but his prick stood hard and long out from his body, resting between the cheeks of Stephen's arse. As he watched Hen oiling himself he began shivering. He didn't know why.

“Jack, my dear,” murmured Stephen. He was smiling at him, resting his head on one bent arm and holding his other hand out to him. Jack took it, crouching close to kiss him. Again the kissing was punctuated by gasps as Hen worked first one then two oiled fingers into Stephen's anus. Stephen clutched hard at Jack's hand and tried to open his legs wider. As Heneage was built more along Stephen's spare lines than those of Jack's generous frame, he and Stephen could fit themselves on the stern locker, but there was no extra room.

Eventually Stephen's lips lost contact with Jack's, as he moved up and down on the narrow bench, working himself on Hen's oiled fingers. Hen leered and winked at Jack, then bent over to apply kisses all down the length of Stephen's back. When his friend reached the crease of Stephen's buttocks, Jack saw Hen's tongue flick out to lick between the cheeks. Stephen groaned and spread his legs farther apart, one falling over the side. Jack noticed the quivering in the lowered thigh, and braced it with one hand. Stephen could hardly acknowledge him. His eyes were dark and unfocussed. He gasped, “ _Hen, fuck, Hen._ ” Jack had never seen him so undone. His whole body was shaking now. Jack tried to soothe him, running a broad hand in circles along Stephen's upper back. 

Stephen's knee was lifted off his hand. Hen was kneeling between Stephen's legs, wrapping them over his hips. Guiding himself carefully, he entered Stephen's eager hole. Slowly he thrust back and forth in small movements until he was securely inside. “Stephen, love, all right, my dear? All right?” he asked, stroking Stephen's back and sides. 

Watching Hen fucking Stephen, Jack was thrust back into the dim past of his midshipman's days, his months as a foremast jack. Fucking was furtive, quick, and rough. Any sexual activity between men was strictly forbidden, punishable by death – no other penalty permitted. Men had sex with each other for love, or convenience, or preference, or release; but no matter the reason it was done in a hurry, no time for luxuriating in pleasure or endearments. 

Now Hen was making love – love-making, no other term for it – to Stephen as if they were in their bridal bed. It had never occurred to Jack that sex between men should, or even could, look like this. Feel like this. Be like this. No wonder Stephen had so readily agreed...

Stephen was no longer shaking so much, instead timing the thrusts of his hips to meet Heneage's. “Yes, so good, so very good. Harder, Hen. More!” Almost laughing now with pleasure, Heneage was happy to oblige. It wasn't long until they were both on the brink of completion. Hen reached around to grasp Stephen's prick and stroke it in time with his thrusts. Soon Stephen was coming, the contractions of his muscles around Hen bringing him off as well.

In a moment both were collapsed on the locker, Hen partially atop Stephen. Both were unmindful of the oily sweaty semeny mess they were in. Stephen smiled lazily, contented at Jack. “My dear,” he said, reaching out a hand, “My love...”

Jack stood up, began looking wildly about for his clothes. Quickly he donned his shirt and began gathering his other items as if he could collect his scattered wits among them. 

Stephen gently disentangled himself from Hen, who could not resist one more long deep kiss. Stephen broke away as soon as he politely could, and moved over to where Jack was standing, dressing himself with shaking fingers. Stephen attempted another embrace, “Jack, joy, there is no hurry tonight.”

Jack looked at him with eyes of blue darkened to a thin navy ring. “I am sorry, I must get back to the ship. Of course you may stay longer, if you wish.” He wrenched his gaze away, and continued trying to force his uniform into something resembling respectability.

Stephen has seen Jack face down fleets of French 74's, 80-foot waves, 800 foot ice mountains, and monstrous typhoons. Stephen was with him whilst Jack endured being adrift in the open Pacific, ship-wrecked on desert islands, court-martialed, and sentenced to the stockade. Stephen had watched him bewildered by plots, disturbed by passionate declarations from a former flame, and nearly destroyed by removal from the Navy list. Yet he had never seen him so panicked as this.

Stephen looked back over at Heneage, who was also dressing, and regarding them impassively. “You are more than welcome to remain, dear Stephen.”

“No, I thank you. I will return with my Captain,” said Stephen, and began dressing as well. Fortunately no one wondered when the doctor's attire was less than neat and he was able to throw his clothes on just as Jack finished arranging his uniform to his satisfaction.

“Thank you both for joining me today,” said Dundas.

“You are very welcome, my dear,” responded Stephen. “We are much obliged for the invitation.”

Jack gave a brief nod and said a perfunctory thank you. The ceremony of piping over the side restored him somewhat, but once in the barge he found he could not bear to be in contact with Stephen, and tried to maintain a gap between them as they sat in the stern sheets along with the midshipman and coxswain. 

Back on his own ship he felt unaccountably ill, and thought perhaps he had indulged a little too freely in Hen's generous dinner. In the relative privacy of the great cabin he shared this observation with Stephen, which he thought would earn him an assent from the doctor, who frequently admonished him for the great quantities of food and drink he imbibed. Instead Stephen frowned at him, and looked quite concerned, maybe even a little sad, which seemed odd. “Should I take physic, d'you think?” Jack asked, worried.

“It is my dearest hope, joy, that physic will not be necessary in this case,” responded Stephen, cryptically. The doctor raised his hands to examine the captain's pulse and tongue, as usual whenever he had a complaint; but Jack found himself avoiding his friend's touch. “I'm sorry, brother,” said Jack, when he realised what he'd done, and moved his head back towards the doctor and opened his mouth.

“It is no matter, my dear,” said Stephen, waving it off with a gesture. “I will examine you tomorrow, should you still feel unwell. Shall we have music tonight?”

“Ah, I think not; not tonight. I believe I shall retire early this evening – no need for supper tonight either, after that rich dinner, ha ha,” he ended with a weak chuckle. “Good night, Doctor.”

“Good night, Captain.”

Deep, deep into the middle watch, Stephen lay awake in his cot, unable to sleep until he heard the thunderous snores of a peacefully sleeping Jack. Through the bells, through the night-ship noises, what came instead to his straining ears were the quiet, mournful tones of a solo violin.


End file.
